


Countryside

by ksaan



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Backstory, Domestic Fluff, Ford F150, M/M, Nosy Neighbors, POV Eames (Inception), Post-Canon, Small Towns, Work In Progress, arthur probably knows how to drive a tractor, rural life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksaan/pseuds/ksaan
Summary: Everyone assumes that Arthur spends his time off in a city, bunkered in some high-rise, sleek, modern penthouse sipping his fair trade, single-source coffee and lounging around in designer jeans and t-shirts, which are carefully constructed to not look expensive. So when Eames finally tracks down Arthur, who has gone dark after a bloody cock-up of a job that no one had anticipated, he feels downright lied to when he finds himself in the middle of America, in a state he really doesn’t think he knew existed, driving a rental pickup truck down a long-forgotten country highway.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone assumes that Arthur spends his time off in a city, bunkered in some high-rise, sleek, modern penthouse sipping his fair trade, single-source coffee and lounging around in designer jeans and t-shirts, which are carefully constructed to not look expensive. So when Eames finally tracks down Arthur, who has gone dark after a bloody cock-up of a job that no one had anticipated, he feels downright lied to when he finds himself in the middle of America, in a state he really doesn’t think he knew existed, driving a rental pickup truck down a long-forgotten country highway.

  
It's not to say the town isn't... _charming_. It is. As Eames passes through the town square, complete with a coffeeshop, barber shop, and general store, he notices the little details that are indicative of this little town thriving: flowers overflowing the storefront window boxes, brightly-colored umbrellas giving the coffeeshop customers shade as they sit outside and flip through a newspaper _(Eames would wager good money its printed in town too)_ , a young couple walking a dog and waving to others across the street. _Charming._ Eames smiles as he drives past, rolling the window of the rental truck down a little farther and pushing his sunglasses back down to perch on his nose. 

_But where, and how, does Arthur fit into all of this?_ He muses, turning out of the main square and onto a residential road lined with quaint homes showcasing whitewashed expansive front porches. They all look old, well taken care of, but definitely chipping at the corners and sagging a little in the middle. As he drives further, the homes get a little older, the front lawns a little less trimmed and a little crispier from the direct summer heat. Eames pulls his burner mobile from his shirt pocket, checks the address he saved in his messages (to be thoroughly destroyed later no doubt) and slows as he pulls up to the last home on the road before it continues on, bordered only by corn and pasture.

"Hm, what have we here?" He mutters as he clicks free his seatbelt and steps out onto the crackled pavement. The one-story home in front of him is humble, short but sprawling, with a dusty white porch adorned with intricate archways Though Eames can see where the beauty once was, he can also see the obvious disrepair. Sagging floorboards, splintering railings, windows that look damn near original. As he walks closer, up the cobbled brick driveway, Eames spots a stack of fresh lumber lurking around the far side of the home. 

"Curious..." He takes a final drag on the cigarette he had been lazily puffing on during his drive and stamps it out on the faded brick. He hesitates a moment before retrieving the butt from the bricks and stashing it in his back pocket. _I am a guest after all...wouldn't want to be rude._ Eames lightly hops up the few steps to the porch, surprised when it doesn't break despite the offended creaks from the boards.  
"Well there goes my element of the surprise." Feeling uncharacteristically awkward, as if he's intruding on a tucked away secret _(well you are, idiot),_ Eames shoves one hand in his back pocket, of course immediately regretting that he chose the one with a freshly stubbed out cigarette in it, and knocks gently with the other on the faded, but still distinctly red, front door. 

It takes a few seconds more than he would've expected for Arthur to open the door, and Eames is glad he had the extra moment to prepare himself.

"Eames?" Arthur tone is questioning, yet soft, his eyes half-guarded, but Eames likes to think that might just be from the sunlight now pouring in through the door.

"Arthur." He lets his mouth languish on the first syllable of his name. He cracks a half smile, "Never took you for a country boy." 

"Never took you for the Ford F150 type " Arthur motions to the car parked lazily on the street.  
"I had to reflect my masculinity somehow, darling. You know what they say about man who drives a truck with big tires." The mask in Arthur's eyes has lowered some, now that he's appraised that Eames is alone and as uncomfortable as he is, as evidenced by his shite innuendos. 

"You want some coffee? Just put the water on." The invitation makes Eames feel like he's been handed a white flag of surrender - a small piece of Arthur that he assumes no one else has seen.   
  
"Darling, how'd you know?" He can almost feel Arthur's eyes roll as he turns around and starts walking down the hallway, not even looking to see if Eames follows. _Of course he does._


	2. Chapter 2

Coffee in Arthur's farmhouse is...nice. Even in the strange setting, Arthur's usual methodical nature seeps out into the domesticity. Eames can see it in the way he precisely measures the grounds for his Chemex (because _of course_ he uses a bloody Chemex) and his practiced pattern of dousing the grounds with water just off the boil. He's silent in his process, but his shoulders are soft and his forehead free of wrinkles. There's a plaster near his temple, barely hiding the crude stitches there and _definitely_ not covering the fading bruises.

"Healing up well?" He asks to break the silence. Eames is usually not uncomfortable with silence, typically relishing in the space it gives him to get a ready on the other person, but right now, he's keyed up and nervous. Arthur hands him a cup of what will probably be a better coffee than the shop in the square could give him, and smiles.

"Is that why you're here Mr. Eames?" He's playful now, sipping coffee and barely hiding the amusement in his eyes. 

"Someone must look after your well-being darling." Eames takes a sip as well and _bugger, that's good._

Arthur snorts. "Rich, coming from the man who almost passed out giving me these." He motioned to the stitches adorning his head.

"You know, temple wounds bleed a lot, darling. I was in some very serious distress." His tone is mocking, but Eames feels a tug in his gut at the memory of his shaky hands, covered in Arthur's blood, desperately trying to thread a needle. The job had been a cock-up for sure. 

"I thought this was _my_ unwarranted home wellness check?" Arthur leans back against the kitchen sink, widening the gap between himself and the kitchen island Eames is seated at. Eames is really doing a shit job of reading the one-man crowd in front of him, and he balks.

"And what a lovely home you have here." Eames takes the opportunity to redirect, taking a guess that Arthur doesn't want to hash out the finer details of where the job went wrong, and definitely not how he's feeling about it. 

"It was my parents' home. I grew up here. So, my home too, I suppose." Arthur's surrender of this information is sudden, but casual. He says it loosely before taking another sip and gesturing broadly with his arm. 

"Here?" Eames feels, well, duped. He prides himself on being the story collector, the people person, the guy who everyone thinks has them all figured out. And this definitely doesn't fit with all the pieces of the puzzle named Arthur he's been collecting. But somehow, it does. _It must._

"Mhm." He pauses, his eyes suddenly very far away, gazing at a point over Eames shoulder. "Lived here until I graduated and shipped out. And before you ask, _yes_ I walked to school, _no_ it wasn't uphill both ways but _yes,_ I had to do it the snow, sometimes." Arthur's eyes came back to him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"My statement from earlier still stands, I never pegged you as a country boy." He doesn’t _want_ to admit defeat, but something compels him to do it anyway. Arthur has clearly done a lot of work refining his work façade so that no one would _know_ where he came from, and Eames wants to give him credit where credit is due.

"Then how did you find me here Eames? Was it Cobb?"

Eames paused, not wanting to admit that he'd gone to Cobb of all people to track Arthur down. To admit he hadn't been able to find him himself. "...I have my contacts." He mutters lamely.

"Eames, only five people would know to link me to this address, and one of them is me, one of them is Cobb, and the other three are dead." He tucks away the piece of knowledge Arthur knowingly ( _he never tells secrets accidentally)_ dropped. _If Cobb knew that’s because Mal knew first. As for the other two,_ the emptiness of the home isn’t lost on Eames. _Arthur’s parents?_

“Your secret is safe with me, Darling.” And by he way Arthur breaks eye contact, loosens the set of his shoulders, and goes back towards the Chemex to pour himself another cuppa, Eames knows that Arthur has decided it is. _It may not be as safe with Cobb,_ Eames thinks darkly, remembering just how easily the now-constantly-distracted father handed over the information. “So what _are_ you doing out here Arthur?”

A knock from the front of the house drowns out Arthur’s sigh.

“I’d better get that.” Arthur leaves him in the kitchen alone, giving Eames a chance to do what he likes to think he does well, _snoop._ He gets up off his rickety barstool, mug in hand, and moves out of the farmhouse-style kitchen and dining space into an adjoining hallway, lined with peeling wallpaper, surprisingly well-kept photos, and two wooden doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, comments, and bookmarks! I've still got a bit more pre-written to edit and then we will see where this goes! Words of encouragement keep me going! <3


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